


Too Busy Being Yours

by Resamille



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, I have no damn clue how the training room works sooo, I promise it's not angsty which is a first, M/M, Nonbinary Pidge | Katie Holt, Pining, Pining Keith (Voltron), help this boy, just go with it, lance may or may not have a hair pulling kink, they're in space so technically there aren't drinking laws, tiny bit of sin, underage drinking kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 12:56:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9124741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resamille/pseuds/Resamille
Summary: Keith is in love, Lance is a mess, and maybe things might actually work out for once.(alternatively: Keith pines, the stars are pretty, music boxes, Pidge can't hold their alcohol, lasers, and Blue is going to disown Lance after this.)





	

Keith is in love.

He's in love—with Lance.

The realization doesn't hit him like a moving train. No, instead, it comes in small moments of acknowledgment, in the little glimpses of Lance where Keith finds himself _wanting_. He realizes it in the curve of Lance's slender jaw, in the pout of his lips when he's upset about something (usually Keith), in the way he celebrates wholeheartedly and unashamed, in the way he stares into the sky and Keith can feel the homesickness seep off of him.

When Keith catches Lance sitting the control room watching the little blip of light denoting Earth on the map, he wonders if that homesickness is anything like what Keith feels—because Lance, he realizes, has become home. He wishes Lance would tell him, what it's like to long to go back, because Keith has very little he wants to go back to, but maybe if he knew the goodness that Lance had, he might be able to miss it for him.

“I know you're there,” Lance says, when Keith lingers in the doorway just a little bit too long and is caught lurking. “You don't have to hide. I... don't need to be left alone or anything, I just like to see it, on the map.”

“Oh,” Keith says softly. “Okay. Can I—um—join you?”

Lance looks up, startled, and his gaze narrows. “You're not Pidge.”

Keith hesitates in the doorway. “No,” he confirms, resisting the urge to shrink back under Lance's borderline hostile stare.

But then his gaze softens, and he pats the floor next to him, inviting. “Go ahead, I guess.”

Keith makes his way in, tells his heart to stop pounding as he settles down next to Lance. He glances over—tries to memorize the silhouette of Lance's face in the blue light of the universe in a split second before he looks away so he's not caught staring. They sit in silence, then, looking up at the twinkling of the stars and planets and galaxies.

“Do you,” Keith whispers finally, because he doesn't dare speak louder, to break the moment with harsh voices or harsher words. He's not even sure why exactly he's speaking in the first place, but his lips move of their own accord. “Do you really not remember?”

“Remember what?” Lance asks, voice just as low.

Neither of them look away from the map, and Keith is grateful because he feels his face flush when he has to clarify. “Our 'bonding moment,' before we brought you back to the healing pods.”

Lance is quiet for a moment, and Keith is afraid he's done something wrong—shattered the gentle quietness with his words because he's bad with words and bad with people and... bad with Lance. But then Lance replies, soft but sure: “A little. I remember bits and pieces of the fight, and I remember you, and that's it.”

“Oh,” says Keith, because now that he has an answer, he's not sure what to do with the information. He spares a glance in Lance's direction, and finds Lance is looking at him, head tilted to the side curiously, and Keith feels his breath catch in his throat. “What?” he chokes out, defensive.

The blue of the hologram dances off the blue of Lance's eyes, and they almost glow in the dim. Keith is mesmerized, at least until Lance asks, “Do you remember?”

Keith snorts. “I wasn't half-dead. Of course I remember.”

Lance rolls his eyes, shrugs, and turns back to the map. In the silence, Keith thinks _fuck, I messed up_ , and scrambles to recover, but he hears Lance's whisper before he can come up with anything to say. “Tell me,” he says, drawing his knees to his chest. “Tell me what you thought.”

Keith makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but then manages to get it together. He ignores Lance's concerned gaze, and mimics his position, pulling his legs close. Keith rests his head against his knees and tries to form words, but they die on his tongue before they past his lips.

“You don't have to,” Lance says suddenly. “I just thought...” and then he trails off, leaving Keith grasping at straws and wondering and hoping.

But he quells his optimism, and shakes his head. “No, I, uh... Just give me a second.” He clears his throat, tries to sort through the emotions and the panic leftover from that day. “I was terrified,” he finally says. “You were lying there—and I know Shiro's the leader and he's the one calling the shots, but I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault. _I'm_ the reckless one, _I_ should be the one getting hurt and making everyone worry, and I know that's selfish, but I can't help it. I felt like I should have done something. It should have been me, not—not you.”

“Oh,” Lance says, echoing Keith's earlier response. He lets the silence stretch for a moment, and then adds, “You're right,” and before Keith can assume he was right about it being his fault, Lance keeps going: “It is selfish to make everyone worry. Especially me.”

Keith catches Lance's gaze, then, and is treated to one of the softest, most genuine smiles he's ever seen, and he feels even more special because that smile is meant for _him_. Lance places a comforting hand on Keith's shoulder, and for perhaps the second time, they share a bonding moment.

And then Keith is flat on his back because Lance used him as leverage to get up and is walking out of the room with a wave.

 

“Holy mother of...” Pidge trails off into a series of incoherent noises that may or may not be an alien language but is more likely gibberish. Keith finds his lips tugging up in a smile at their excitement. He finds himself doing that a lot more often, recently. At least, compared to his time in the desert, and perhaps compared to before he finally admitted to himself that he liked Lance.

Pidge continues to devolve into some sort of happy mush puddle as they gush over the alien tech on display at the market they're currently browsing through. The merchant, an alien with dark blue skin and multiple tentacles instead of arms, looks decidedly bored, but Keith thinks that the increasing amount of teeth showing on his face is maybe a smile at Pidge's antics. He keeps a wary gaze on the salesperson (salesalien?) all the same.

Keith glances over his shoulder. Hunk and Coran are across the square, bartering old Altean junk for various food supplies, spices and ingredients to improve their currently bland diet. Shiro and Allura are talking to an alien outside of what appears to be a mechanics shop, and they're pointing in the direction of the castle, presumably trying to negotiate upgrades or repairs.

And Lance... he was looking at some jewelry stand about 30 seconds ago, or more likely chatting up the merchant, but now he's disappeared and Keith's brow furrows. They were literally just going to stop to look around—how much trouble could he get himself into in such a short span of time? Unfortunately, Keith already knows the answer: a lot. And now he notices that the jewelry stand salesperson is gone, too, and a twisting feeling settles in his gut.

“Oh, what's that?” Keith hears from his side, and he jumps slightly.

“Lance!” he scolds, but he almost breathes a sigh of relief, and he no longer feels like he's going to be sick. Instead, the feeling is replaced by butterflies and a pounding heart, and Keith tells himself it's ridiculous that Lance has such an effect on him, but he's long past actually being able to control it, so he just accepts that being this close is forever going to slowly kill him.

Lance looks up at him with a curious expression, and turns back to whatever he found in the piles of weird tech. Keith takes a quick survey of Pidge—further away from him now, but still a happy puddle—and the merchant, whose eyes (all four) are on Pidge, and Keith's gaze hardens slightly, protective.

But then Lance tugs at the sleeve of his jacket, dislodging its normal location on his shoulders, and Keith makes a grumbling noise at him. “Yo, Keith, check this out,” Lance is saying, as Keith tries to readjust his jacket and his erratic heartbeat.

Lance holds something up—a metal box it seems—and when he twists one side of it, kind of like one of those colorful cube puzzles Keith knows just a little too well (one gets very bored in the middle of a desert), it makes noise. A series of twinkling sounds emanate from the block, a soft little song like the chirping of birds.

“Heh,” Lance says, and when Keith looks at him, he has the same glisten in his eyes as when Keith finds him staring at the tiny dot of earth on the holomap. “It reminds me of the ocean. You've never seen it, right?”

Keith feels touched that Lance remembers—it was something he had only mentioned, once, during one of the rare times Keith has the courage to join him in the control room and they talk like normal people for once. He shakes his head, and gingerly takes the cube from Lance's hand, holding it up towards the merchant, a silent question of _how much?_

The merchant seems to brighten slightly, and points at Pidge's frame. Keith furrows his brows, and pulls on his jacket collar and points at Pidge. “You want Pidge's jacket?” he adds aloud, though he's mostly sure the alien can't understand him.

Pidge looks up as their name is called, an eyebrow quirked. They pad over to inspect what Keith now had in his hands, taking it from him. “What's this?” They fiddle with it until it replays the tune.

The alien shakes his head, and points more determinedly at Pidge, and Keith pales. He glances over at Lance and sees the realization hit him when his mouth falls into an open circle. “You want _Pidge_?” Keith squawks incredulously.

The alien nods vigorously, showing more teeth, and Keith recoils, reaching for his knife instinctively. Before he can even respond, though, Lance is bristling, shoving forward. “Hell _no_ ,” he growls, and grabs the object from Pidge and recklessly dumps it back into the piles of junk. “You can't have Pidge,” he hisses, and, grabbing Pidge by the shoulders, guides them away. “Let's go.”

The alien shrugs, and Keith sends him a death glare before going after Lance and Pidge.

“What can I say,” Pidge says nonchalantly, as if they weren't just requested as a bartering good, probably to be sold into slavery afterward. “I'm a hot commodity.”

“You've been hanging out with Lance way too much,” Keith grits out, steering the group towards Shiro and Allura.

Once they all regroup at the mechanics shop, Shiro begins explaining what they've managed to negotiate, but Keith misses most of it. He's too busy sneaking worried glances at Lance, who still looks murderous, and refuses to stare at anything but his feet. Keith shuffles closer, and puts a hand on Lance's shoulder. He feels the other relax, and as Shiro is dismissing them, Lance reaches up to brush his fingertips over Keith's before slinking back towards the castle.

Keith thinks about that little touch a lot.

He's still thinking about it when, on their last night on the planet, he sneaks back to the merchant's now-closed shop, picks the lock on the gate, and makes off with a tiny musical cube. The next morning, as they're saying goodbye to the small market town, the alien still has that smug, toothy smile on his face, and Keith is pretty sure he didn't even notice the box was gone.

He spends the next three days carefully watching Lance as he mopes, but Keith spends the next three nights with Pidge and Hunk, tinkering with the thing until it plays a different tune. Pidge and Hunk supply inspiration though vivid descriptions of the beach and ocean, and Keith translates it to music as best he can, filing away metal pieces and welding on new ones until he's satisfied. He leaves it outside Lance's door when it's done, an anonymous gift.

The next morning, Lance seems a little brighter, just marginally, but Keith knows. He's memorized Lance well enough by now to know the little tells and quirks. But when Lance sits next to him at breakfast, laughing mildly at something Pidge says, and reaches under the table to squeeze Keith's hand for just a heartbeat, it's new, and something Keith doesn't know what to do with. He files it away in the same way he's filed the ghost of fingers over his, and the weight of Lance's hand on his shoulder.

He thinks about that touch a lot, too.

 

It begins with a distress signal from a small planet nearby. They get there just after the Galra have implemented their rule, and with the remoteness of this particular galaxy and some distinctly poor strategic decisions on the Galra's part, they retake the planet without much trouble.

It's not until they meet the inhabitants and are invited to the stay the night in celebration that Keith discovers the cause of aforementioned bad strategy. The people of this planet, small with mole-like features but humanoid limbs, have an extremely high alcohol tolerance, and they're known for their potent (and delicious) wines and other beverages.

And that's how the paladins of Voltron (plus their leader and whatever Coran is to their team) end up scattered across an inviting bar in various states of inebriation. Shiro, Allura, Coran, and Hunk are settled in a booth in the corner, arguing good-naturedly about something. Allura and Coran each are on their second glass of some sort of whiskey (at least that's what Keith thinks it is, though he's not very knowledgeable) since Alteans have a higher tolerance for alcohol than humans. Hunk's making headway on a beer, while Shiro sips at a glass of wine that has stained his lips a delicious red.

And Keith has to take a mental step backwards at that point to realize just how gay it is that he's checking out Shiro when Shiro is practically his older brother, and he is definitely not drunk enough for that to be okay.

And then, of course, his next train of thought is what would Lance look like wearing that same stain of cherry red? Would he seem more kissable or is there some sort of max kissability that Lance has already reached for Keith and it wouldn't make a difference? Keith frowns down at the glass in his hand (his first of the night), pondering this very serious dilemma.

Pidge plops themselves down on a barstool next to Keith (which is approximately the size of an actual chair, since everything seems to be scaled down here, but Pidge's feet still can't touch the floor). Since they're young, they've been drinking some sort of cider, which has less alcohol than anything else offered, but they're still giggly and less coordinated than usual, as they nearly slip off the stool. Keith reaches his hand out to steady them, and they flop dramatically over the bar counter. The action reminds Keith of Lance and he swallows hard.

“Howsit going, Keef?” Pidge asks, and they fling an arm out to pat his leg. “Still crushing on Lance?”

“Damn it, Pidge,” Keith huffs, gingerly tucking some hair away from their eyes. “I knew I shouldn't have told you that. Especially since you're such a lightweight.”

“Psssh,” Pidge replies, sticking their tongue out at him. “I already knew. And Lance is worst!”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at them, and they continue blowing raspberries in his direction, interspersed with giggle fits. Keith rolls his eyes and ruffles Pidge's already messy hair, and then he turns to look over his shoulder at where he'd last seen Lance... and it comes as no surprise that Lance has managed to disappear again. Worry spikes through Keith automatically, but he tries to convince himself that Lance can take care of himself and it's not his place to be so concerned, anyway.

Who is he kidding, he's concerned no matter what, and Lance can barely keep himself out of trouble when he's sober. Who knows what he can get into when he's plastered. Keith sighs, spinning in his seat to lean against the bar while he scans the room. Shiro and the others are still in the corner booth, and Pidge hops off the barstool to go join them. Lance had previously been tucked in the opposite corner with a few of the planets inhabitants, probably female and probably charmed by his bad jokes (ha, yeah right), but now he's nowhere to be found in the room.

There's a few other species in the bar too, visitors from before the Galra attack, and Keith accidentally locks eyes with one from across the room. He looks similar to Allura, with the same tall build, only with deep navy skin instead of Allura's copper and a mop of curly golden hair. He stands and begins making his way over, and Keith internally curses himself before downing the rest of his drink because he needs the alcohol if he's going to deal with this.

“You look like you could use some company,” says the alien in an indiscernible accent.

“Not really,” Keith responds coolly, and motions to the mole-like bartender for another drink. “I'm fine by myself, thanks.”

“That's too bad,” he says, leaning against the bar next to Keith. “I always find company preferable.”

“Well, I don't,” Keith quips. The bartender slides a drink towards him and Keith contemplates chugging it before going to join the others in the corner booth, but then the alien might follow him and there's no way Shiro or Allura would make him go away, so Keith stays put.

“I'm Elatha,” the other says, ignoring Keith's curt reply. “Maybe company would be preferable to you if I were preferable company?”

Keith snorts, because that makes very little sense. “What?” But then when he looks over, he almost drops his glass, because instead of this Elatha creature, Lance now stands before him, a soft smirk playing on his lips. “Shit! I—”

There's a laugh—Lance's laugh—and Elatha says in Lance's voice, though more sultry than Keith has ever heard it directed at him. “Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I cannot control who you see, but I can be who you desire.” And then Elatha-Lance is leaning closer, looking up at Keith through long lashes, and Keith feels his heart catch in his throat because _oh God how does he react to this_.

It's Lance—Lance, as he's memorized him. It's Lance in the bronze of his skin, in the soft of his hair that Keith notices is just beginning to curl past his ears, in the pink of his lips, and in the curve of his waist as his shirt clings to his skinny frame. But it's not Lance in the predatory stance, curling his body closer so that Keith feels trapped against the bar, nor is it Lance in the way Elatha runs his fingertips over the exposed skin at Keith's wrist and his skin twitches unpleasantly under the touch. It's not Lance even as his voice asks, “So, what'll it be? Care to, hmm, _enjoy_ my company?”

Keith's voice catches awkwardly in his chest because dammit, it even smells like Lance, and then he has to take a second to reevaluate his life again because when did he memorize Lance's scent? That should be weirder than it is. All the same, Keith manages to recover himself, settling a hard glare into blue eyes he knows far better than he'd ever admit. But it's not real, and not that he's expecting to get the real thing... It doesn't feel right. It feels like it would compromise the fact he _loves_ Lance, and doesn't just like him for his body. “Thanks for the offer, Elatha, but no thanks.”

“Too bad,” Elatha purrs, and Keith watches the transformation back—as skin shifts and features twist in such a subtle way that it's almost impossible to tell it's occurring except for the fact that when it's done he's looking at a completely different person. “You're too pretty to be single,” he adds, ghosting a touch over Keith's wrist again before he turns away.

“Damn straight,” Keith mutters under his breath as he watches with a cold stare as Elatha drifts through the bar. He stiffens as Pidge teeters over to him, and Elatha looks down in surprise, but then Elatha is letting out a chuckle, and pats Pidge on the head before walking away. Keith lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Ever since the merchant a couple weeks ago, he's been extra conscious of Pidge at all times, and it's beginning to wear on his sanity... and oh, God, is this what Shiro feels like?

Yup, definitely still not drunk enough to cross that bridge.

He downs the last of the next glass, and finally feels the burn of alcohol in his veins. He might be one of the smaller paladins, but one doesn't survive in the desert on color cube puzzles and giant space lion signals alone, so Keith had smuggled his fair share of various beers out to his shack, and while he's not necessarily proud of that, he is proud of the resulting alcohol tolerance.

Plus, he learned to pace himself. Unlike some people. (Cough—Lance—cough).

And, speak of the devil.

Lance stumbles from a curtained-off doorway that Keith had thought was for staff only (in retrospect, it might be... and the ideas of what Lance might have been doing back there, and with who, return that twisting feeling to Keith's insides). He says some incoherent nonsense as he passes a pretty-looking alien, and shoots them finger guns, but keeps walking in Keith's direction, looking pleased with himself.

Judging by how drunk he is, thought, if Lance got any, it probably was only in his head. Still, Keith is vaguely distressed even as Lance splays himself on the stool next to Keith, one long leg draped over Keith's lap, and he finds it a miracle Lance hasn't fallen over. He orders a drink and the bartender returns with some sort of fruity-looking beverage.

Lance takes a sip, pins Keith with a dopey smile, and then slurs: “Is good! Try ish!”

Keith raises an eyebrow at him, and takes the drink from Lance's hand, sipping. He splutters immediately afterwards—not because of the taste, but because Keith can tell there is far more alcohol in this than probably anything else at the bar. “Holy shit, Lance, how many of these have you had?”

“One... two... four?” Lance says. “M'fine, Babe.”

“Right,” Keith says sternly, detangling himself from Lance's leg. “Right, I'm cutting you off. You are definitely far too wasted for it to be safe if you're hitting on me.” Which, when he looks back on it, is kind of really depressing, but right now, Keith's only really concern is the fact that Lance may or may not have minor alcohol poisoning.

Keith pushes the drink down the bar, out of Lance's reach, and Lance makes a halfhearted attempt to grab at it, but lets Keith hoist him up so that he's leaning on Keith as they walk. Keith catches Pidge by the back of their jacket as they run by, and instructs them to tell Allura that he's taking Lance back to the castle, but Pidge is still giggling and way too hyperactive right now to be reliable. Keith catches Allura's gaze as he and Lance stumble towards the door, and he motions towards it, indicating that they're leaving.

Allura waves back, and then nudges Shiro. Shiro, probably wine drunk by now, winks, and Keith doesn't particularly want to think about what he was insinuating.

When they get back to the castle, Keith dumps Lance in his bed, but as he's trying to leave, Lance tugs at his arm, and Keith stumbles (he may or may not be slightly drunker than he'd like to admit), falling into sitting position on the bed. Lance curls around his back, hooking his legs under one of Keith's so that Keith is forced to half-lay down or else have his hip bent at a very uncomfortable angle.

“Keef,” Lance says, wrapping his arms around his waist, and snuggling his head against his side. “Warm,” and his voice is muffled, but his breath is hot through the material of Keith's shirt.

Keith stiffens, because just like with Elatha, this isn't quite right. Lance doesn't actually want him like that, and he knows it, so as much as his fingers itch to trace the bronze skin currently wrapped around his waist, as much as he longs to tug his fingers through the soft of Lance's hair, and as much as he wants to map Lance's body as he lay sprawled out on the bed... _Fuck._ Yup, the sudden tightness of Keith's pant are definitely a sign he needs to _leave._

“Lance,” Keith pleads, and attempts to untangle himself, but Lance's grip is surprisingly strong considering how intoxicated he is. That, or Keith is just really weak when it comes to trying to pull himself away from the arms he longs for.

One of Lance's hands is playing at the edge of Keith's shirt, somehow managing to pull it from where it's tucked under his belt, and suddenly there's the hot press of fingers against his skin, and Keith shudders, though this is far from the unpleasant touch of Elatha. This is Lance, actually Lance, and he's smoothing over the skin at Keith's hip, sending pleasurable tingles across his stomach. Meanwhile, something pricks at Keith's waist, where Lance is nuzzling against him, and Keith's nerves jump. “Hey! Did—did you just b-bite me?”

“Mmph,” Lance says into Keith's shirt, and Keith's torn because Lance's hand is still tracing circles at his hip, but he knows he can't do this. He will not take advantage of Lance like this. Lance isn't in his right mind enough to make sane decisions, and this is the mantra Keith repeats as he fumbles out of Lance's grasp, landing on his butt on the floor as a result.

Lance peers over the edge of the bed, pouting down at Keith. Keith gets up, manhandles Lance in to what is probably a decent sleeping position on his side and throws a blanket over him before Keith can get trapped in his gaze or his arms again. Before he can turn away, though, Lance's hand shoots out from under the cover, grabs Keith's and squeezes, and then flops back down.

Keith bolts.

He goes to the kitchen, gets himself a glass of water, and stares at his hand. He should be getting water for Lance, maybe a bucket because Lance is going to be hungover as fuck when he wakes up, but Keith doesn't dare go back, not until he's sure Lance is asleep.

He's shaking, he realizes.

Because all of that intimacy, all of the snuggling and the clinginess and flirting (with Keith) is not Lance. It's unexplored territory that will very likely never be explored in the light of day, when Lance is sober. But the pressure of Lance's fingers against his—that's becoming familiar. _That_ is Lance, and he knows it, and Keith doesn't know what to do with it, still, a single reality in a scene that just played out of Keith's dreams. And at this point, either the alcohol or the stress from saving the universe, or maybe the painful friction of his jeans, but something is making Keith think that he's slowly going insane because some part of him begins to hope, just in the slightest, that maybe Lance likes him back.

 

The others come back as Keith is getting out of a cold shower, so he hasn't had a chance to bring anything to Lance yet. Allura takes over the task, thank God. Shiro goes to his room almost immediately, claiming he's going to crash, and Keith hopes it's true because if anyone around here deserves a good night's rest, it's Shiro. Pidge is still practically bouncing off the walls, so Hunk and Keith volunteer to watch them while Allura and Coran turn in.

Keith and Hunk drag some pillows and a blanket or two into the training room, and let Pidge do whatever Pidge does while they sit in a corner and watch. They chat aimlessly, and eventually Hunk slumps against the wall and silence ensues as he dozes off. At least, until Pidge wanders over, interrupting the still, and asks, “How long have you liked him?”

Keith feels his skin flush. Pidge settles themselves down next to Keith, and flops against his shoulder, listless. “I—um... I don't know, really. It just sort of happened, and I let it.”

“Oh,” Pidge mumbles, and when Keith glances over, the other is on the verge of falling asleep too. Hunk has already slipped down the wall until he's mostly horizontal and is hogging all of the pillows. Mostly incoherent, Keith thinks Pidge mutters, “...realized... healing pod.”

Keith blinks at them, furrowing his brows for a moment, but then Pidge suddenly flops down into his lap and he rolls his eyes when they stutter awake.

He falls asleep that night using Hunk as a pillow, and with his body curled around Pidge, partly to keep them in place, but also because he's grown far more protective of them than he thinks he's ever wanted to protect anything. Pidge is precious to him, precious to all of them. Precious to Lance, and Keith will do anything to protect what Lance loves.

The intimacy would have scared him at one point, but when he wakes, blinking sleep from his eyes and finding his breathing constricted by Pidge's frame thrown over his chest, Keith finds he doesn't mind this at all. Sure, it's a little weird, and a little uncomfortable, and his back will probably ache all day because the training room floor is definitely not a bed, but, maybe, just maybe, this is what family is like, and Keith is okay with that.

 

Allura let them all take the day off, but Keith still finds himself working through a training routine into the late hours of the night. It probably helps that he's mostly fine since he didn't drink a whole lot the night before, and Hunk and Allura volunteered to watch over Pidge and Lance, who both have the worst of effects after last night, while Shiro and Coran scout for their next destination.

There's also the fact that Keith is maybe, just maybe, trying to avoid Lance.

He's not doing it _specifically_. But he is definitely not putting himself out there to interact with him, because he may or may not be really conflicted as to whether he should bring up what happened. The first dilemma is whether or not Lance actually remembers anything. The second is would bringing it up be more awkward than ignoring it, and would bringing it up ruin the tentative teamwork they currently have (they still argue, they still fight, but they can get the job done now).

Keith is in the process of dispatching the fourth training bot in the routine, and it's crackling body joins the others on the floor before it flickers out of existence. Keith is panting hard, having left his bayard to the side in order to work on his close-combat skills with his knife instead. He starts up the simulation again, working through the same form diligently until his muscles know it by memory better than his mind, until his body snaps into place before he has a chance to think.

This time, when the fourth and final bot falls back, a slow clap interrupts the drag of Keith's breath in his chest, and he whirls. Lance is leaning against the wall, looking rather put together considering Keith had heard from Hunk earlier that he had been a mess all morning. Keith feels the sudden strain of pushing his body to its limits, and his muscles spasm, the knife falling to the floor with a clang, and Keith also knows that it has nothing to do with the training session.

“Let's make a deal,” Lance says, and his voice is lower and darker than Keith has probably ever heard it.

Swallowing, Keith sucks in air for a moment, staring. “What kind of deal?” he manages through dry lips, because he's never seen Lance like this, but then he realizes that's a lie. The hatred is absent, but it's the same deadly intent that Lance had yelled at the merchant with. It's terrifying, and Keith feels pinned in place.

Lance lifts up his bayard, calls for his weapon. “If you can reach me from across the room, I'll be honest with you. No, wait—even better. If you can reach me, then I'll be honest with myself.”

“I—I don't have my suit,” Keith says, meaning he couldn't summon a shield.

“I know,” Lance says, and takes up position against the far wall. “Are you in, or no?”

“Lance—” Keith starts, loses the words he was going to say, and scrambles to replace them. “Lance, what's going on?”

“Are you in, or not?” Lance repeats, lifting his bayard and aiming it at Keith.

“Why are you—” But then Lance fires, a warning shot that would have missed anyway, but Keith ducks and rolls out of instinct. “Lance! What the hell—what are you doing?”

“I'm going to ask one more time. Are you—”

“Fine, I'll do it!” Keith yells at him, rage bubbling up. This was just like Lance, to be so infuriating and stubborn, and yet there's something wrong, and Keith feels his chest tighten with worry, even as Lance fires again and misses Keith by a long shot, which means it was intentional.

And then it becomes a game, with significantly higher stakes than any sort of training because Keith doesn't have his armor, and lasers from Lance's bayard can burn through flesh. There's a few more shots, more rapid and closer to their target, and Keith finds himself dancing around them as he edges closer to Lance, but he hasn't had to preform any major dodges yet... And then Lance fires directly at Keith, and he has to spin on his heel to avoid getting hit. Before he can recover, though, Lance fires at his feet, and Keith has to jump further away.

This continues, Keith inching closer, and then usually Lance manages to push him back. Overall, Keith's maybe gained a fourth of the distance, but between his earlier sessions and the pace Lance has him moving at, the air is starting to burn in his lungs as he breathes, and pretty soon his muscles are going to refuse to cooperate.

He dodges another laser just to find himself face-to-face with a training bot. Lance must have somehow booted up his routine in order to make it harder, except that the bots act solid and can absorb some of Lance's shots, so it's more likely to work in Keith's favor. Keith ducks under the weapon of a bot, and as Lance fires at him, Keith leaves an opening so that the bot lunges forward, taking the bullet and leaving an open space for Keith to roll forward.

He manages to cross half the distance between them with the help of the bots, but Lance learned his lesson the first time and doesn't start them up again, so Keith's on his own. “Lance—” he pants, feeling his legs shake. “Lance—what—”

But then he has to jump to the side again, and Keith refuses to give up ground, but Lance also doesn't leave him any room to lunge forward. Keith's starting to realize he's not going to win this unscathed, and so he watches Lance, follows his pattern (he's so easy to memorize at this point that Keith would have laughed if he wasn't so out of breath).

Keith waits, and then leaps, jumping high and open. He sees Lance's eyes widen, and the shot aimed at Keith's chest falters, fires past his side, and Keith feels the cool air on his side as it cuts through his shirt. He lands and rolls, pops up right in front of Lance, and tackles him back, holding his wrists back against the wall until Lance's bayard clatters to the floor.

Keith's breathing hard, pressed chest-to-chest with the boy he's in love with, and if he was so God damn _pissed_ at Lance, he might have been either embarrassed or ecstatic at the position they were currently in. He scans Lance's face, and finds only a few traces of the intense, emotionless person who was just firing lasers at him. It's then that Keith notices the sheen of sweat on Lance's brow, the quiver in his lip, and the cold of his skin where Keith holds his wrist.

He's still sick, Keith realizes, still getting over the hangover, and he's straining himself to come here and play stupid games and—Keith frowns at him. “Lance, what the hell—You should be in bed—what— _why_? Why are you here?”

Lance doesn't meet his gaze, and instead stares at Keith's shoulder. He mumbles something, and eventually Keith understands that he's repeating: “Okay... okay, okay.”

“What is going on?” Keith pleads, slowly releasing Lance's arms because his own are crying out in agony. “Lance, _please_.”

“Okay,” Lance says with finality. “I'm—I promised. You won. I'm being honest with myself. I'm being honest with you.”

And then Lance pushes just the tiniest bit forward, and wraps his arms around Keith, squeezing—the same encouraging squeeze he was occasionally graced with on his fingertips, now enveloping him. Lance is shaking, and Keith wonders if he's crying, because oh God he can't deal with that and he tries to tell Lance he's sorry, though he's not sure what for, but suddenly Keith's vision swims as his right side seems to light on fire.

As the adrenaline begins to falter, it turns out Lance didn't just graze his shirt with that last bullet.

The last thing Keith remembers before he passes out from the exhaustion and pain is Lance's surprised expression, and Keith in his delirium can only pay attention to how much he wants to kiss him.

 

Keith awakes to someone yelling. At least, that's what it seems like, but it's probably just because it's Allura using her scolding voice and that always sounds like yelling to Keith no matter how loud she actually is.

Well at least he wasn't put in a healing pod. Those things are kind of spooky, and Keith may or may not be a little resentful of them ever since they put Lance in one and he didn't come out for three days because that was absolutely the worst three days of Keith's life. Needless to say, they don't give him any good vibes.

His brain finally kicks in an translates noise into coherent speech, and Keith hears Allura say, “Lance, _please_. We have to be a team. This is exactly the sort of thing we've really been trying to avoid, especially with you and Keith, and you guys were doing well, but this is _unacceptable_.”

Lance gives a squeak of apology. Keith tries to lift an arm to wave them away, or at least get rid of Allura's voice because he's tired of being scolded, but instead he only manages to flop his hand awkwardly against the bed. Well that didn't work. His body feels like it's weighed down with water. With far more effort than it should have taken, because Keith must be on meds or _something_ because he feels super out of it, he manages to groan, “Not Lance's fault.”

“Keith!” Lance cries, and is suddenly at his side. At least, Keith assumes, because he hasn't bothered to open his eyes yet, but the bed shifts under someone's weight, and considering Allura's sigh is further away, that weight must be Lance.

“We'll talk later,” Allura says, and he hears the door open and then slide shut behind her.

“Why the fuck am I so groggy,” Keith grumbles. “My arms won't move when I want them to.”

“Trippy space painkillers,” Lance says. “Keith, listen—I'm sorry. I really am. I didn't mean—I didn't mean to actually hit you, but—I—I'm sorry. Please don't hate me.”

“I don't hate you,” Keith says, and tries to reach towards his torso to inspect the damage.

Lance tugs his hand back, and doesn't let go of it. “Don't—” he says. “It's not completely bandaged yet, and we just cleaned it.”

“I can't feel it. Which is probably good. But I don't know what's wrong. What—?”

“Just a flesh wound,” Lance fills in, sounding guilty. “Nothing too bad, but it's kind of deep, and it'll probably scar. I'm sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. It's okay,” Keith sighs.

“You're not mad?”

“Oh, no, I'm going to murder you as soon as I can move, but not because of the wound. What the hell was any of that?”

He hears Lance swallow. “I promised I would be honest,” he says, as if reminding himself, not Keith. “I—Keith, I...”

“What time is it, by the way?”

Lance splutters for a moment, and then, sounding resigned: “It's like the middle of the night. Listen, Keith, I—”

“Am I in your bed?”

Lance makes a choking noise. “Yes. It was closer,” he growls. “Keith, shut up, I'm trying to say something.”

“Oh,” Keith says, and before he can stop himself because apparently trippy space meds also screw with his mental filter, he adds, “No wonder it smells nice.”

“God damn it, Keith,” Lance hisses. “You can't just say things like that while I'm in the middle of trying to confess.”

“Confess what— _Oh_.” Keith presses his lips together. “Nope, I've decided I'm not going to deal with this until I've showered and can move. Lance, come back tomorrow.”

Lance proceeds to make more incoherent squawking noises. “ _Keith!_ ” he cries. “You can't just leave a guy hanging like that, you asshole!”

Keith makes a noncommittal noise. He decides to throw Lance a bone since, despite everything, he likes the idiot. “Look, Lance. I've been pining for you for far too long for you to not be able to wait another day.”

Lance barks out a surprised laugh. “ _Pining_ , Keith? Really?”

“Shut up, thinking is hard. Go to sleep.”

“You're in my bed.”

“Go sleep in mine then.”

Lance makes a strangled noise for at least the fourth time in as many minutes. “Keith!” he hisses. “That's—”

“Well, it's not like I'm using it. Go away, I'm trying to sleep.” Keith tries to stick his tongue out at Lance, but it turns out that's too much effort, so he gives up.

“Fine,” Lance huffs, but he doesn't leave. Instead, he squeezes Keith's hand, and then Keith feels the bed shift as Lance readjusts. He falls asleep to the sound of Lance's breathing.

 

Keith groans as light pierces against his eyelids, and he tries to cringe away from it, but finds he can't turn his body because there's a weight on his chest pinning him back.

“Just me,” says Shiro's voice, and the weight relents some. “I need you to stay still while I bandage this... It might hurt. We didn't want to drug you up again.”

Keith blinks his eyes open, squinting at the ceiling light like it just murdered his family. Shiro looks up at his expression and is surprised into a laugh. “Relax. Go back to sleep if you can.”

Keith lets his gaze adjust to the light before he focuses on Shiro's form looming over him, unwinding a strip of fabric from a spool. Keith fights the urge to do exactly what Shiro suggests because he has more important things to tend to. And by things he means people and by people he means Lance. “I have to—Lance—”

“You can beat him into a pulp later,” Shiro says calmly. “Though please don't actually because while I know you don't really... like him, he is useful and necessary to the team.”

“You seem far less upset about this than Allura,” observes Keith. He struggles to sit up, but only manages to get to his elbows before pain spikes up his side.

“I told you to relax,” Shiro scolds. He sighs. “But if you insist on getting up, at least be helpful so I can wrap this correctly.”

Keith nods and Shiro helps to prop him against the wall before he starts dressing the wound at Keith's waist. It's the first time he's gotten a good look at the damage, and Lance was right: it probably will scar. There's a gash, flesh torn at the edges, that spans from near his navel to just above his hip. Keith hisses out a gasp as Shiro binds it just a little too tightly.

“Sorry,” Shiro says, cutting through the fabric and taping the end down.

“It's fine,” Keith grunts, and gives an experimental stretch. Yup still hurts like a motherfucker, but Shiro nods approvingly as the bandage stays in place. Right, so he's halfway to tracking down Lance since he can move now, but a shower still sounds far better than talking to obnoxious boys who shoot at him and who Keith just happens to be in love with.

He may also be only slightly avoiding acknowledging that he's going to have to work some things out with Lance after last night because certain things were said that can't go ignored. Although... Keith contemplates how long he can put this off and if he does so long enough, can things just go back to normal?

...Does he want them to go back to normal?

“Gonna clean up,” Keith mumbles to Shiro as he shuffles towards the connecting bathroom. He can't take a shower with the bandages on him, but he grabs a towel and wets it, wiping the grimy feeling of sweat from his skin. He turns on the shower and sticks his head under the stream, because knowing Lance, he'll probably will refuse to talk to Keith unless he washes his hair.

When he emerges, Shiro is gone, but there's a glass of water left on top of the dresser. Keith downs it before, with a deep breath, venturing outside his room in search of Lance, or maybe food. Food would be good too. Food might be preferable because Keith doesn't have a habit of making a fool of himself in front of his food.

Well, at the very least, food doesn't care.

Okay, maybe he's starting to see the appeal Hunk is always jabbering about.

Keith finds himself wandering towards the kitchen after checking that the training room and lounge were empty. Hunk and Pidge both look up in apparent surprise at his entrance. Pidge cringes as if the quick movement hurts. Keith coughs out a chuckle and ruffles their hair. “Seems like you don't hold your liquor as well as you thought, huh?”

In the silence that follows as Keith scours for decent snacks, he realizes the other two are staring at him. Self conscious, he turns around and his gaze darkens. “What?”

“Dude,” Hunk breathes. “Okay, I'm confused.”

“I guess I owe Coran five of those weird Altean coins then,” Pidge mutters, squinting up at Keith. “Care to explain why you aren't murderous right now?”

“What?” Keith furrows his brow at them. “Actually, never mind, I don't want to know what you're talking about.”

“We heard you and Lance got in a fight from Allura and he—he actually beat you? Like he hurt you? Allura looked super mad, so we kind of figured it was bad,” Hunk rambles on.

Keith tilts his head curiously at them. He contemplates the conversation he's currently having because Hunk is absolutely right. Under normal circumstances, Keith would be an absolutely homicidal, and Lance would probably hide in Blue until Keith blew off some steam elsewhere and it was safe for him to come back out. “No,” Keith says slowly, as if he has to think hard about the words. He shakes his head, and decides that whatever is standard behavior for either of them is about to be thrown out the window anyway. “No, you're right. He got me with his bayard while I wasn't wearing my armor.”

“Holy shit,” Pidge breathes, eyes blown wide. “Did you also hit your head on the floor? Because this is weird and creepy and _why are you so calm_.”

“I'm not going to kill him. I'm not mad.” Pidge and Hunk look at him like he's just sprouted another head. “Well, I mean, I'm a little pissed, but I promise he'll come back in one piece after I find him.”

Neither of the others respond, seemingly processing this revelation. Keith shrugs and finds some sort of space fruit in one of the cabinets. He holds it up to inspect and gestures at Hunk with it. “I'm assuming this is edible?”

Hunk seems to recover some of his composure because he manages to snap his hanging jaw shut before stuttering: “I—uh—yeah?”

“Cool. Okay,” he says, shuffling across the room. “I'm gonna go track down Lance.”

“He's probably—” Pidge starts, but Keith cuts them off.

Voice muffled by alien fruit, he calls over his shoulder, “—In the hangar? Yeah, I know.”

He hears Hunk make a spluttering noise, and gasp out, “How does he _know_?”

Keith can hear the smirk in Pidge's voice when they snicker, “Hunk, boy, do I have a secret to tell you.”

He contemplates throwing the rest of his alien fruit at them, but he's hungry. Not to mention, with any luck (he dares to let himself hope), his crush on Lance is going to painfully obvious to the entire castle after today.

 

Keith finds his heart fluttering nervously in his chest.

Things are a lot more awkward in the daylight when he's not drugged up on painkillers and Lance is far more composed than the shambling mess he was the night before. Keith doubts himself—wonders if was just the panic speaking when Lance said what he did, wonders if now that he's had more of a chance to recover from everything that he'll take it back.

Blue is lounging, head in her paws, when Keith approaches. Her tail flicks up, dancing in the air curiously, but she doesn't move otherwise, which implies Lance is inside the cockpit. “Right,” Keith tells her, settling a hand on he giant paw. “Look, I know you're not especially fond of me, but I need to talk to Lance, okay? I promise I won't hurt him... Much. Probably.”

Blue's ears flick towards him, and she slowly opens her mouth. Keith waits, but no one comes out, and eventually he understands he was supposed to go up, which is not what he was expecting in the least. He raises an eyebrow at the lion, but doesn't question it further as he makes his way up the ramp and Blue closes her mouth behind him.

He comes up behind the pilot seat, and sees a leg sprawled over the armrest while an arm dangles off the other. “Lance?” Keith calls softly, and peers around the back of the chair.

...And Lance is asleep.

Keith takes a shameless moment to watch him, face the picture of peace, even if he is drooling into the shoulder of his jacket. He looks younger, and Keith wonders how much this whole ordeal with flying space lions has stressed him.

He also wonders, as his brain supplies very unhelpfully, whether or not Lance would be willing to let Keith relieve some of that stress. He finds himself blushing, gaze lingering on Lance's lips for far too long. They look so soft...

“...Keef...” Lance mumbles, and Keith reels back, suddenly noticing he is far closer to Lance than he had been when he walked in. God damn it, cute sleepy blue paladins are far more dangerous than Keith previously anticipated.

“Lance?” Keith says.

… Damn it, he's asleep. Keith doesn't think about what Lance is dreaming about that makes him say Keith's name in his sleep.

“Lance.” More insistent, louder.

Still nothing.

“Lance!” Keith leans in and yells close to the other's ear.

Lance bolts upright in his seat, flailing, and nearly falls on the floor. “Holy _shit_ , you nearly gave me a heart attack!” he cries dramatically, clutching at his chest while he pants.

Keith gives him an unapologetic, feral grin and Lance freezes, eyes going wide with a mixture of fear, uncertainty, and something similar to the intensity he had approached Keith with the night before.

“You're... um... here,” Lance says, very observant.

“Indeed, I am,” Keith answers, and leans against the control panel, crossing his arms over his chest. “I think I owe you some murder, but first, we should talk.”

Lance swallows hard and Keith's not sure which of those options is the more daunting. His own heart is pounding in his chest, but Lance didn't break his promise, that he would be honest, and Keith figures the it would be fair to give Lance the same courtesy. Who is he kidding? Fair has never been a word to describe their relationship, but Keith has so hopelessly fallen for him at this point that he doesn't care.

“Oookay,” Lance draws the word out, and Keith's eyes follow his tongue as they flick over his lips. “A-About what, exactly?”

“I think you know what,” Keith shoots back, because... yeah, this is harder to do than he thought. He settles his gaze on his boots, because watching Lance is definitely not doing anything for his sanity. “What was last night about?”

“What do you mean?”

Keith lets out an exasperated sigh. “Why the competition? Why the game?”

“Do you like me?” Lance blurts.

Keith looks up with a mild glare. Lance's fidgeting stills under his gaze for only a moment. Keith snorts. “I asked first.”

“Your mullet is dumb,” Lance retorts.

“Are we really going to start this?” Keith huffs at him.

“...The competition was dumb. I—I was still hungover and maybe kind of drunk and part of me wanted to see if you would fight for me. Like what would you be willing to do to... It's stupid and I just...” Lance runs a hand through his hair. “I dunno.”

Keith watches him for a moment, watches him tug gently at his brown locks. He looks about as much a mess as Keith has ever seen him. With a deep breath, Keith tries to still the stuttering of his heart. “Yes,” he finally says.

“Yes what?”

“The answer to your question.”

Lance's gaze widens, and he freezes again. His mouth falls into a surprised “O” and Keith finds himself drawn to the curve of his lips. Again. That's really a thing he needs to get under control. “I—” he manages, and then his gaze hardens. “You're fucking with me, aren't you? You would do something like that, now that you know I feel—”

“Lance,” Keith cuts him off, and the stern tone of his voice makes Lance's jaw snap shut. “Do you really think I...” he shakes his head, partly disappointed, but also partly not surprised.

“No,” Lance says quickly. “No—I... You're right. I'm sorry. You're an asshole sometimes, but you're not a complete dick.”

“Thanks, I think,” Keith deadpans. There's an awkward silence. Keith finds himself paying far too much attention to the edge of his t-shirt than is ever necessary. He feels his face flush as he manages, “H-how do you feel about me?”

Lance doesn't answer, and Keith looks up, but finds Lance is inches away from him. Suddenly everything is too hot, too close, and they aren't even touching, but Keith's face is burning, and he can feel Lance's breath fan across his face. “C-can I show you?”

Keith finds himself nodding before he even processes the words. _Yes, yes_ , because that's always the answer when it comes to Lance.

Lance raises a hand to Keith's cheek, and he's hyperaware of every movement between the two of them. Lance's thumb brushes over his lips, and Keith has to clutch onto the edge of the control panel to keep from shuddering. Then the distance between them is closed, and Lance brushes his lips over Keith's, the softest of touches that burns down Keith's spine.

Lance pulls away far too soon, searching Keith's gaze.

“Fuck, _Lance_ ,” Keith groans.

“What? I-I'm sorry—Mmph!”

Whatever the hell nonsense Lance was about to spew, Keith cuts off because he has been waiting for this for far too long for Lance to ruin it with words. He grabs a fist of Lance's shirt, tugs him down, and crashes their lips together, bruising and clumsy and hard and wanting.

This time it's Keith who pulls away, still far too soon than he would have liked, but they still need to clear up things, and while kissing is definitely something Keith is inclined to spend the rest of the day doing, there's still talking (and murder, don't forget the murder, he reminds himself) to be done.

“I—um...” Lance says, very intelligently.

“Was I clear?” Keith asks.

Lance nods vigorously. “Crystal.” Keith sees his cheeks flush. “Can I ask, uh, how long?”

“How long I liked you?” Keith asks, and he nods. “I'm... not really sure. It just happened.”

“Oh,” Lance squeaks. “I... realized when I got out of the healing pod and—and I saw your gaze light up like I was your world.”

Keith blushes. “You probably already were at that point,” he mutters. “I fell in—for you in the ridiculous way you get excited about things, and the way you defend what you believe in and who you believe in, and the way you care about earth even though it's so far away... and—when you stumbled out of that healing pod, I had been so scared, and as soon as I saw you, I felt like I could breathe again.”

And that is way too sappy and way too sentimental for Keith to be able to ever face Lance again, so he grabs Lance and tugs him into a hug, hiding his burning face in the crook on Lance's neck. Lance laughs, a little breathlessly, and gingerly wraps his arms around Keith. “I'm glad,” Lance says against his hair.

Keith is in love.

He's in love—with Lance.

And he wouldn't have it any other way.

 

While hugs are nice and all, Keith has spent far too long staring at Lance's lip to not try to memorize them with his own now that he's allowed to. Keith tugs Lance back to his face, earning himself a surprised, pleased gasp as he pulls him closer. Lance stumbles forward barely, catching himself on the control panel, but he also unintentionally pushes Keith back so that he's half-sitting on the control panel with one leg hiked over Lance's hip.

Keith may not be the most experienced at kissing, but he's a quick learner. While Lance easily slants his mouth against Keith's and they fall into a rhythm of increasingly rougher presses, it's Keith who darts his tongue out experimentally. Lance wraps his arms around Keith, tracing incongruous slow circles on his back, but Keith has waited long enough to even _touch_ Lance, much less kiss him with reckless abandon, and he thinks he's allowed to be a little impatient.

Tentative at first, he tugs at Lance's shoulders, trying to push impossibly closer, but somehow Keith's hands end up in Lance's hair, and he tugs gently.

Lance melts.

_Oh,_ Keith thinks, and, though he's panting and breathless, he grins wickedly when Lance's weight falls against him, face buried in Keith's neck and a shudder rolls down his spine. Keith gives another soft pull, and Lance whines against his skin, boneless and pliant as Keith threads his fingers through his hair, teasing and testing. Keith takes advantage of their position to place open-mouthed kisses to Lance's neck. He reaches up to nibble at Lance's earlobe, and tugs on his hair at the same time.

Lance jerks away, pulling back and panting, stumbling until he falls into the pilot seat. His gaze is wild and dark. “Keith—I—fuck, you're too good at that—”

Keith pushes himself off of the control panel, and edges closer. “W-was that too much?” he asks softly, watching as Lance's chest heaves, and God if this boy isn't everything he's ever wanted.

Lance bites his lip. “No—no, it was good, I just—I didn't—know...”

“That you had a thing for hair-pulling?” Keith taunts and smirks at him as he nears, and Lance levels him with a half-pissed, half-distressed gaze, nodding slowly.

Keith lets himself fall to his knees, resting his hands against Lance's thighs. Lance swallows hard and his gaze goes wide, breath hitching in his throat when Keith nuzzles against his leg, nipping skin through clothes. “W-what are you doing?” he manages, and warmth spreads through Keith at how flustered he sounds.

“I'm going to murder you,” Keith purrs against the heat of Lance's body. “And you're going to love it, okay?”

Lance makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, eyes glazed, and Keith sends him a Cheshire grin as he rasps out a reply: “Okay.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm repenting for my angsty sins when I wrote Loving Him Was Red.  
> Title and original fic inspiration from Do I Wanna Know by Arctic Monkeys.  
> This is significantly longer than I originally intended.  
> (CoughThat'sWhatLanceSaidCough)  
> Also shoutout to Watercast by Fishwrites because I am a sucker for Keef. If you haven't read that fic go do it now. It's stunning.


End file.
